


Refuge

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Anal Plug, Bathing/Washing, Diapers, Infantilism, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 18:42:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14795897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: Stiles needs an occasional break from adult responsibilities. Peter provides that.





	Refuge

Stiles came home from another interview looking frazzled, with obviously no idea how it had gone. Peter could see the strain on him, his wild eyes as he came into the apartment like a whirlwind, hair awry from hands gripping it too tightly throughout the day. Stiles smelled like sour sweat and stress, a common combination.

Peter didn't bother asking how it went. After four months of constant strain, he knew it would just get him snapped at and not help Stiles feel any better. Stiles charged across the apartment, unloading pockets, backpack. Putting away his water bottle in the sink. Wallet and keys by the door. Stiles pulled out his phone, thumbs clicking furiously. No doubt he was responding to another email from a recruiter or company.

"What do you have left tonight?" Peter asked, leaning his hip against the counter as he watched. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for Stiles to stop typing.

"Uhm. I have to redo my resume again for one of the recruiters. The last guy wanted it shorter. This one wants it longer." He rolled his eyes. "But it can wait a few days."

"Good. You're done for the night then, and tomorrow's still your day off." Tomorrow was a Thursday, but Stiles' life made demands of him at all hours of late. Peter was adamant that Stiles find time off to relax amid the chaos. 

At first, a great push had seemed advisable. Get a job quickly and rest afterward. But after a time it became evident that the economy simply did not work the way it had before his coma, and this was more of a marathon, not a sprint. Time off was imperative.

"Phone down," Peter commanded quietly.

Stiles glanced, up, biting his lip worriedly as he clicked more furiously with his thumbs. "But --"

"Finish," Peter told him calmly but firmly, and Stiles put the last few touches on whatever it was he was doing, then took a bracing breath and silenced his phone. He plugged it in and placed it face down on the table by the door, next to the wallet and keys dish.

"Good boy," Peter praised, and Stiles' shoulders dropped the slightest fraction, though Peter could see that the boy was still a mass of tension. That amount of anxiety wouldn't be easy to let go.

Peter moved further into the kitchen to pull out a glass and fill it with water while Stiles waited and tracked him. He handed the full glass off. "Go sit down at the TV. Have something to drink, find something to watch. I'm going to finish putting supper together."

He could tell Stiles wanted to argue. Or maybe he wanted to do exactly as Peter said, but the demands of the job hunt pressed inexorably down on him. He took another deep breath, but not deep enough as his chest seized against the motion. Peter would have to see to relieving that tension if he could. "Okay," Stiles agreed, and he moved off toward the living room, forcing himself to comply.

From the kitchen, Peter could see Stiles move to the sofa and kick his shoes off before pulling his feet up to get comfortable. Now that the glass was in his hand, he idly sipped, as planned, as he flicked through the channels, spastically in search of something to watch. That was fine. He could run through some of his nervous tension that way, and Peter would force a stop to the channel surfing later if Stiles couldn't settle on his own.

For now, he turned back to the prepped ingredients sitting on the counter, only waiting for Stiles' return to be cooked. The rice was already steamed in the rice cooker. The vegetables and chicken were chopped, the sauce prepared. A simple stir fry would get them the needed nutrients and hopefully take the edge off of Stiles' junk food fuelled high before the inevitable crash. There was only so much Peter could do to take care of the boy when he was out of the apartment.

When the food was ready, Peter steeled himself to eat with Stiles on the sofa instead of in the kitchen, because he knew that the sofa meant comfort to Stiles and the kitchen, especially at an official dinner table, meant tension. There was the possible casualty of his couch this way but it was worth it for the scent of peace that came along with the concession. To be with his boy, he'd had to give up a few of the finer things in life, like a pristine apartment, but the life that filled the space made it no hardship.

Stiles had burrowed into the cushions and settled on some boring history programme about one of the wars. Even Stiles wasn't that academic, and Peter suspected it was for the familiarity and soothing sounds more than anything. At least he wouldn't have to choose the channel.

He passed Stiles his food and Stiles started eating without further prompting which was good. Sometimes he could get himself too worked up or too distracted to actually eat the meal in front of him. He was uncharacteristically silent, though, and Peter knew from experience not to prompt him at a time like this. If he were to ask about Stiles' day, or what was on his mind, Stiles would only work himself up further about everything going on lately, and everything that he still needed to do. Probably with an unhealthy dose of existential angst just to round things out.

Instead, it was up to Peter, known introvert, to carry the conversation. It had taken some time for him to work up to the skill but now he droned on about the mundanities of his own day. He'd gone shopping. There was more of the cinnamon raisin bread Stiles liked. They'd been out of the good hummus. He'd found a new pork recipe for later in the week.

"It's braised with a honey glaze," Peter explained.

"You already made honey glazed pork," Stiles told him with an indifferent shrug.

"That was a sweet dish. This one's closer to barbeque."

Stiles wrinkled his nose skeptically. "Barbeque with honey?" he questioned.

"No, braised pork with a honey glaze," Peter repeated with a sarcastic eye roll. "It's just closer to barbeque than the dish you're thinking of."

"If you say so."

By the time their bowls were empty, Stiles had relaxed a bit more and had even chimed in with meal suggestions when Peter prompted him. Safe topics. Inconsequential things. Though Stiles was a master at wrapping any topic in layers of anxiety when he wound himself up enough. They'd skated dangerously close to thoughts of Stiles' dead mother when he brought up some recipe she'd used to make, but Peter had gracefully steered them back into more neutral territory when he'd scented Stiles' distress beginning to build.

"Come on," Peter rose and jutted his chin for Stiles to follow.

"I'll wash, you dry."

"Do I have to?" Stiles whined, and he jutted out his lower lip in an adorable pout.

Peter smirked. It was reassuring to see Stiles settle more into himself. "Yes, you have to," he reminded him. Chores were non-negotiable. He knew if he just let Stiles sit on the sofa while he cleaned up, he'd just get lost in his thoughts again and spiral down. Idle hands were the devil's playground and all of that. Or at least, with Stiles' ADD and mounting anxiety, giving him something physical to do was a good way to ground him more in the moment.

~~~

Peter washed out the sink while Stiles put the last glass in the cupboard.

"Bath time, I think," Peter declared, and delighted in the soft blush on Stiles' cheeks, and the hope in his eyes. Still, he looked hesitant, as he always did when they indulged in this facet of their relationship. He wanted it, craved it, but never seemed sure he could have it. "Would you like bubbles or a bath bomb this time, Sweetheart?" Peter asked him.

Stiles wavered, biting his lip. "Both?" he asked hopefully, with a small smile. It was the sort of smile that showed he knew the answer would be one or the other.

"One or the other," Peter told him, and waited patiently for Stiles to choose if he was going to, else Peter would choose for him.

"Bath bomb," Stiles decided quietly. No matter which direction he went he was bound to be slightly embarrassed. Not that Peter thought he had any reason to be, but that was Stiles. The bubble bath had him acknowledging his desire for those younger aged things. The bath bombs for whatever reason Stiles had associated with the feminine. Peter didn't agree in the slightest, of course. He'd had the bath bombs purely for himself before Stiles had come along.

"Alright. I'll go start the water. You go get undressed and put your clothes in the hamper," Peter directed.

Stiles headed off to the guest room, officially his room now, to deposit his clothes. Sometimes they did share a bed, of course, but for various reasons it suited the two of them to also keep their own space at times.

Peter, meanwhile, headed to the bathroom. He plugged the tub and started the hot water going and got down Stiles' washcloth and one of the bath bombs. This one had a soft lavender scent for soothing aromatherapy, and oils to soften the skin. He'd let Stiles do the honours  of dropping it in the tub and seeing it fizz up, but he'd wanted to choose the scent lest Stiles reach for one of the invigorating options.

When Stiles crept back into the room naked he had that air of embarrassment about him that Peter found adorable and ridiculous in equal measure. He'd seen Stiles naked many times over, and had done quite a bit more than look. "Go ahead in," Peter allowed. The tub was nearly full and he'd just tested the water. Hot but not scalding.

Stiles sunk gratefully into the heat, letting out a sigh as he laid back with his knees up. In another minute, Peter shut off the flow of water.

"Can I put it in?" Stiles asked with an eager smile, and Peter handed over the ball fondly. Stiles rolled onto his side a bit to watch the thing fizz in the water, with the same eager gaze of a child. Peter soaked it in, watching Stiles instead.

"Can I have a sponge pill?" Stiles asked, as his attention finally waned.

"One," Peter said sternly, and Stiles nodded as if this were a serious transaction. Not as if he had a shower basket suctioned to the wall filled with the things. Peter pulled one of the capsules out of the cupboard where they kept the bath supplies and handed it over. Stiles took it as eagerly as he'd accepted the bath bomb, and cupped the little gelatin-covered pill under the water, fingers worrying at it to dissolve the coating more quickly than it would naturally melt away. He had no patience, but Peter would never try to change him.

In a few minutes, Stiles held up his prize, squinting. "Cheetah?" he guessed. It was certainly some sort of large cat, but without consulting the back of the package they wouldn't know for sure.

"Wonderful. It can live with the rest of the zoo, and the twenty odd boats and cars," Peter said sarcastically, but with no real bite. Stiles smiled knowingly and added his prize to his basket while Peter reached for his washcloth and the soap. He didn't need to prompt Stiles as the boy sat up, crosslegged in the tub and ready for the next part of their little routine.

At times Stiles could be embarrassed about being washed as well, but for now he was in good spirits and relaxed from the bath time so far. Peter soaped the cloth and started on one of Stiles' arms as Stiles passively allowed his body to be manipulated. Under the water, Stiles' fingers squished the last remnants of the bath bomb into oblivion, again too impatient to let nature run its course. Or perhaps just enjoying the feel of it.

"Can I have bath crayons?" he asked.

"What are bath crayons?" Peter asked as he worked the soapy cloth.

Stiles' eyes widened. "Seriously? You don't know bath crayons? You had a deprived childhood," he shook his head. "Or maybe you're so old they didn't have them back then." He thought for a moment, then shrugged. "They're like crayons made of soap and water soluble dye. You write on the walls of the bath with them, or on your body."

"I suppose I'll google them," Peter said, making no promises. But Stiles smiled like he'd been promised them anyway, and Peter wasn't fooling anyone if he denied that that was basically the truth of it. He could throw a few bucks at bath crayons.

The water was murky from the depleted bath bomb and had cooled by the time he finished washing Stiles. The air was lightly scented lavender, and now so too was Stiles and with oil softened skin. Peter rinsed out the wash cloth and set it aside, then flicked the drain on the tub. "Alright, time to get out," he announced, and stood to grab Stiles' towel off the rack.

Stiles stood as well, sloshing water everywhere as he stepped onto the mat. Peter intercepted him before the bathroom became a total disaster and worked to dry him as quickly and efficiently as he could as Stiles' skin pebbled with gooseflesh, now cold.

He let Stiles wrap himself in the towel as he pleased as he cleaned up the tub efficiently. "Brush your teeth and use the toilet. I'll pick out your pyjamas," Peter told him.

"Kay," Stiles responded, already reaching for his brush. Peter saw his hand hover over the adult toothpaste before he made a grab for the child variety instead. He hadn't planned to push for it tonight, but he was pleased to see Stiles embracing the process, helping to ease himself into a headspace where he could finally let himself relax. Stiles could be reluctant at times to relinquish that last bit of control, but he always felt better when he did.

~~~

Peter entered Stiles’ room, once his guest room. The walls were still beige and the furniture nondescript, but it had been filled and covered with signs of Stiles. The bedding was still nondescript blues but there was a little head of a stuffed animal poking out by the pillow. Ms. Kitty was the closest Peter would give in to Stiles’ requests for an actual cat, at least for now. Every time Stiles asked, or enthused over a stray, Peter felt his resolve erode a little.

The dresser was plain looking on the outside and littered with some of Stiles’ odds and ends on top. He opened the bottom drawer where Stiles kept his pyjamas, and pushed aside the flannel pants and worn t-shirts, then the thick sweats the boy preferred in the winter, to pull out the adult one piece affair on the bottom in bright red. There were no attached feet on this set, as they’d tried that initially and Stiles had said it made his feet feel trapped, whatever that meant. But there was the characteristic zipper down the front that gave it a very young feel. They were lucky that such pyjamas were a trend these days, with college students wearing them ironically. Only a few years prior and Peter knew they’d have had to seek out some very specialty shops to find such attire. As it was, they had been able to find a set at their local Walmart.

Peter set out the onesie on the bed and pulled open the top left drawer to reveal Stiles’ underwear. A jumble of unfolded boxers made up the top and front. Further back were some adorable briefs Peter had picked out for him and thought he looked rather sexy in. And jammed all the way in the back, almost shamefully, were several adult pull-ups. Peter fished one out and added it to the bed as well. He debated grabbing a pair of socks to keep Stiles’ feet warm, but he expected a fight already for the pull-up. Stiles would want it tomorrow when he was further in his headspace but not now, while he was still struggling to drop down. The difficulty was that putting it on now would help tremendously with his headspace upon waking. Peter sighed. The socks could wait.

He heard Stiles still puttering around in the bathroom as he made his own way down the hall and into the kitchen where he pulled out one of the sippy cups in the back. Stiles had been particularly resistant to bottles, though Peter had thought they would probably mesh nicely with Stiles’ headspace at points. But he was respectful of hangups, no matter how trivial, and they’d compromised with the special no-spill sippy cups. He filled one with water and when he got back to the bedroom with it Stiles was already there, frowning at the chosen clothing.

“ _ Peter _ ,” he said, in a tone that made it feel like  _ Daddy _ . Stiles let the tone do the work for him now, saying what he couldn’t quite bring him to say as he looked up at Peter with big, soul-filled eyes. “I don’t need --”

“I know you don’t, Pumpkin,” Peter assured him as he set the sippy cup atop the dresser for now. He ran a hand through Stiles’ damp hair. “And you know you don’t have to use it. That’s why we have pull ups and not diapers, remember? The option is there either way."

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, then reached for the garment and slipped it on. It was  _ adorable _ on him, and Peter felt his cock harden at the image. Not as thick as a diaper, but still entirely obvious what it was. All too soon Stiles reached for his pyjamas and was pulling those on as well, the slight crinkle barely discernible.

Peter itched to help Stiles dress himself but he let Stiles do it alone. Right now Stiles was in “big boy” mode and wouldn’t be appreciative of the help.

“How cold are your feet? Do you need socks?”

“No,  _ Peter _ ,” Stiles complained.

Peter held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, no socks. Let’s get you in bed, then.”

“I’m not tired,” Stiles argued half-heartedly. A token protest. He looked dead on his feet. It was certainly much earlier than Stiles’ usual bedtime, but it was evident he could use the sleep.

“Then how about you just rest your eyes a moment while I read you a story, hm?” Peter pulled back the covers and Stiles dutifully snuggled in, hands immediately reaching for Ms. Kitty. Peter grabbed his sippy cup of water and handed that to him as well. History had told him that Stiles would in fact sip off and on throughout the night if he woke up thirsty.

Once Stiles was settled, Peter pulled out  _ Where the Wild Things Are _ and sat on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard as Stiles nuzzled up beside his hip, eyes already falling shut. To “rest”, but certainly not sleep. By the end of the story, Stiles’ breaths were deep and even and he was out like a light.

Peter removed himself from the bed gently so as not to disturb him and settled the covers a little more securely. He placed the book back on the shelf -- in a small pile of children's books on the top of the bookshelf. Out of direct line of sight, and almost seemingly an afterthought that Peter had piled there unofficially. Should anyone not in the know glance around the room, they probably wouldn’t think anything of it.

He flicked on the Batman night light by the door and turned off the overhead light, then gently closed the door. His own sounds might disturb Stiles otherwise, and as a werewolf he could hear if Stiles needed him with the door firmly shut.

~~~

Stiles woke up groggy and snuggled next to something soft. Ms. Kitty, he realized. Not as soft as a real cat, but much more willing to be held close. He laid quietly for a moment, eyes still closed, and took in his environment. Soft sheets, soft pyjamas. Everything at Peter's was soft. The light filtered through the blinds, telling him it was past his usual wake up time, and for a moment he had a spike of adrenaline as he wondered what he should be doing. Did he have another phone interview? Did some recruiter need something from him? He felt like reaching for his phone, but remembered it was in the kitchen.

Right, his day off. It slowly filtered back to him, along with the adult onesie and the snug pull-up, hugging his morning erection. He had to pee, and he considered using the pull up. He had before, and he didn't hate it. When he could bring himself to do it, it was such a comfort. Freeing. Warm. 

The first time, he'd cleaned himself up in embarrassment. But Peter's wolf senses had smelled it the second time he'd tried, and Peter had insisted on cleaning him up afterward. That had been nice too.

He opened his eyes to stare at the beige wall. He wondered whether Peter would let him paint it blue. The stripes of light on the wall flickered and shifted as branches moved outside, and Stiles listened to the silent apartment. From his bed, he couldn't hear anything, but Peter could be in the kitchen, or watching TV. Or maybe he was actually being quiet right now, with a book or his laptop.

Stiles fished around until he found his sippy cup and sucked on it while he tried to decide on whether to use the pull up. In the end, he decided to forego it and pushed his way out of bed. Normally, he'd get dressed and get to it right away, but not today. Normally, he'd have his cell phone on his bedside table, or even under a pillow if he'd fallen asleep using it, but that wasn't the routine for one of his little days.

He stood in his bare feet on the chilly floor but didn't stop for socks and opened the door to his room. The low sound of the television filtered in, as well as various kitchen sounds and unidentifiable scents. Peter was cooking something. Knowing him, multiple somethings.

For now, Stiles made his way to the bathroom to relieve himself. He had to unzip his pyjamas all the way down and awkwardly fish his cock out of his pull up, but that was enjoyable in its own way too, as was pulling it up snug again and zipping himself back into warmth. Then came brushing his teeth, and he considered himself ready enough to make his way to the kitchen, bed head and all. Not that there was much hope for his hair even on the best of days.

"Well, look who finally woke up," Peter said as greeting when Stiles pulled himself up onto a stool at the bar to watch Peter work.

"Morning, Daddy," Stiles mumbled, still feeling pleasantly fuzzy from sleep. He felt a blush rise to his cheeks at the use of the moniker. He  _ wanted _ to say it, but he knew it wasn't exactly normal.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Peter returned. "I take it you slept well last night?"

"Uh-huh. Time 's it?" Stiles asked and accepted a new sippy cup of water that Peter slid across the counter to him. Stiles would lose them around the apartment throughout the day, but Peter always seemed to manage to put another one nearby.

"About nine o'clock."

"Jesus. I slept like twelve hours."

"You needed the rest. You about ready for breakfast, baby boy?"

"What are you making?" Stiles craned his head curiously, trying to make sense of the chaos.

"Right now? A casserole for lunch, and a pan of muffins for snacking. But soon -- pancakes or french toast?"

"Pancakes," Stiles decided with a small smile. He loved it when Peter doted on him like this. He couldn't remember the last time such a thing had happened at home. His dad hadn't really had time, or the cooking ability. Or maybe they just weren't that kind of family. At any rate, Peter most certainly was that kind of daddy. He pulled out the ingredients to make pancakes from scratch, and got the real maple syrup out of the fridge. Not the dyed, flavoured corn syrup Stiles had grown up with.

"You want them here or do you want to go find some cartoons to watch?"

"Where are you gonna be?" Stiles questioned. He felt a bit clingy and wanted to hang around Peter.

"Hmm," Peter hummed consideringly. "If you eat your pancakes here, I should be finished with everything else by the time you're done. Then we can both go find some cartoons. Maybe put in your Batman DVD. How does that sound?"

"Good," Stiles said with a genuine smile. How long had it been since he'd last watched any Batman? He was in desperate need of that kind of comfort, and as always Peter seemed to know exactly what he needed.

~~~

A plate of pancakes and two episodes of Batman later and it was after ten, really time to get dressed. Or at least Peter seemed to think so.

"Come on, pup. Let's get you into some real clothes," Peter told him as he ushered him off the couch and back to his bedroom. Stiles would have been comfortable in his pyjamas all day, but Peter usually chose good outfits too.

He unzipped and pulled off his pyjamas while Peter pulled out some clothes. A plain grey pair of sweatpants. Soft and comfortable. And a graphic tee, though not one of his usual choices. He already wore a good array of superhero shirts on a regular basis. To differentiate their play time from normal time, Peter had really gone young in his selections. This selection featured a black tee, because Peter knew he hated pastels, but with a bright red rocket ship exploring the stars, almost as if drawn by a child.

Stiles had asked him where he'd even found such a thing, but Peter wouldn't tell him. He was certain that Peter must have had it made special somewhere.

And finally, a thick pair of red socks. Honestly, he was surprised he'd been allowed to stay barefoot this long. And really, his feet were getting kind of cold.

"Do you need any toys today, sweetheart?" Peter asked, hand moving to the little bedside table drawer where they kept a few select things.

Stiles blushed. "Uhm...."

"Your plug? Or your cage?" Peter prompted. Stiles knew that if he wanted a toy-free day he'd get one, and Peter wouldn't push. But sometimes it was more fun for both of them if he used something. Or even a lot of things. It depended on the day.

"Plug," Stiles decided, not meeting Peter's eyes, but watching closely as Peter pulled the medium plug and a tube of lube from the drawer. Today, Stiles wanted to feel his erection rubbing against his snug pull-up.

Peter smiled knowingly, his eyes sparkling. "Alright, sweet boy. Take your pull-up off and kneel up on the bed for me. You know the position."

Stiles felt his face heating as he shucked the final garment and moved onto his messy bed on his hands and knees, ass out and facing toward Peter, legs parted. He arched his back slightly and let his head fall between his shoulders, feeling utterly exposed. He couldn't say he didn't like it.

Stiles flinched as he felt Peter's hand touch his thigh, then relaxed as Peter stroked him for a moment. Only when he was comfortable did the man slip one lubed finger into his hole. They did this often, so it wasn't very difficult to breach, and Stiles sighed at the initial penetration, then wiggled for some more stimulation.

Peter's fingers were too clever for him, as always. He deftly inserted a second finger for stretch, but somehow evaded his prostate entirely. Stiles let out a plaintive whine, and Peter gave him a playful slap. "Behave," he admonished.

" _ Daddy _ ," Stiles breathed lustily. "Please, more."

"Maybe later, sweetheart. It's plug time now, remember?" As if to emphasize his point, Peter pulled his fingers free, then pressed the plug to his twitching hole. Stiles sighed in frustration, but let out a breathy little moan when the widest part of the plug passed his rim. He knew that precum would make a mess of his pull-up in no time with the plug pressing insistently at him. But then, that was a major part of why he'd chosen it.

Stiles came back to the present when Peter gave his ass cheek another playful slap. "Come on, pup. Time to get dressed."

Stiles groaned softly as he righted himself and reached down for his pull-up. Everything seemed a little bit more difficult now as he tried to adjust, but lucky for him his daddy was there to help pull his underclothes into place. Then Peter carefully helped him to step into his pants, pulled the shirt over his head, careful of his arms.

"Sit up on the bed for me. Let me get your socks."

Stiles gasped slightly at the new pressure on the plug and felt his cock twitch in its soft confines.

"Your feet are as cold as ice!" Peter declared, trying to warm Stiles' toes with his over-warm hands. With the contrast of Peter's warmth, Stiles realized how cold his toes had gotten, and as a consequence he found the thick socks welcome, at least for now.

"What do you want to do next, sweetheart?" Peter asked him, once he was dressed and ready for the day. "No more cartoons for now."

"Can we build a fort?" Stiles asked a bit shyly, but with hope in his eyes, and he saw Peter heave a sigh as he gave in. Stiles grinned before Peter could even confirm it aloud.

"I suppose we can," he conceded.

Building a fort was one of Stiles' most requested activities when he was little, but Peter only sometimes gave in and allowed the disarray of his living room. Stiles hurried out before him to start grabbing blankets and to turn around the chairs and couch, backs facing, while Peter fished in a closet for some clothes pins to hold the blankets up.

Stiles' plug shifted within him as he bent and turned and crawled and moved to assemble the fort. Peter was almost useless in its construction. Whether he considered such menial labour to be beneath him or whether he simply didn't have the mind for how to assemble it, Stiles didn't know, and he knew that Peter would never admit to a shortcoming in any case.

His plug was distracting at times, but the assembly of the fort was almost enough to fill his mind in place of arousal. Almost. Breathlessly, he entreated Peter "Come inside," as he crawled in, and he sensed Peter's smirk at the unintended double entendre.

"My knees will not survive it," Peter protested dryly.

"One, you're not that old, and two, you're a werewolf with super healing abilities," Stiles retorted, and a moment later Peter joined him in the confined space. Peter pushed a colouring book and some coloured pencils toward him, while he pulled out a book for himself.

"Why don't you colour something for me?" Peter encouraged, and Stiles was glad of the forethought. There really wasn't much to do inside of the fort once constructed.

"Read to me?" he asked.

Peter smiled indulgently. "Oh, very well," he conceded, though Stiles suspected that he secretly liked reading aloud. He was certainly good enough at it.

It wasn't a children's book, and Stiles didn't even know the plot that he had so far missed, but it wasn't important. He simply let the drone of Peter's calm voice wash over him. Indistinct images filled his mind at the words as he lost himself in the story and in his own artwork. 

Time always seemed to slip away from him when he got into something, and it was no exception now. When he finished, he showed his work to Peter, and the man set his own book aside. "It looks lovely," Peter told him, and Stiles felt a burst of warmth fill his chest, even though it was only a bit of colouring. "Would you like to keep it in the book or hang it on the fridge?" Peter asked him. He often asked, but thus far Stiles had felt far too shy to leave any of his colouring out in the open where someone might see.

"Keep it in the book," he answered, already shutting it away.

"That's fine, pumpkin," Peter assured him and ruffled his hair. "Now, what do you say to some lunch?" he asked.

Stiles' stomach gave a bit of a growl at the suggestion but he blinked in confusion. "It's lunch time already?" He wondered where the time had gone. Then he smelled a delicious scent wafting into his fort from the kitchen. "Wait, when did you put that in the oven?"

"When I went to retrieve the clothes pins," Peter answered, already crawling out. He seemed to have no problem standing upright once again when he reached the living room, but Stiles felt stiff. Just as he had said, Peter wasn't fooling anyone with his comment about his knees.

Though for Stiles, it wasn't his knees either that really had the most difficulty, but rather his ass. He clenched around his plug as he crawled his way out into the open.

Stiles let out a soft grunt, completely involuntarily, but of course Peter noticed. "Having trouble there, little boy?" he teased, a knowing lilt in his voice.

Stiles blushed as he stood up. He knew that his pull up revealed nothing, but he felt his hard cock throbbing against the soft material, slick with precum. "I'm okay," he mumbled, and Peter let it go for now.

They made their way into the kitchen to eat, foregoing the living room as it was still a complete disaster. Peter dished some of the nameless "casserole" for the two of them. Something with meat and vegetables and sauce that didn't need a fancy name to be delicious. Peter portioned his own on his white ceramic plate, with the regular stainless steel flatware. But, Stiles noted with a squirmy feeling in his stomach, Peter dished Stiles' portion onto a plastic plate with Looney Toons characters on it -- something clearly old, that he must have gotten at a thrift shop. And for Stiles' flatware there was child-styled plasticware with exaggerated handles and rounded edges.

He squirmed on the bar stool, swinging his feet as if he truly were a child. "Thank you, Daddy," he said softly when Peter slid his portion to him on the counter.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Peter answered, then poured them each a drink of water. A glass for Peter, and one of the ubiquitous sippy cups for Stiles.

Without the bustle of Peter in the kitchen, the atmosphere seemed to grow a little tense for Stiles. That's what family dinners meant to him -- trapped at a table, with nothing to say. He needed a distraction, to move or to read or to watch something on TV. Unlike breakfast where he had watched Peter bustle, now they both sat at the bar while they ate. But Peter knew him well, and he needn't have worried. 

"What do you want to do this afternoon?" Peter prompted him, and just like that the tension left Stiles' shoulders.

"Maybe we could watch a movie?" he tried. He knew the rules though. During the day, Peter always wanted him to be "productive", though he seemed to have a pretty loose definition of the word.

"Perhaps this evening," Peter suggested instead, as expected. Stiles had had to try though, and at any rate he'd still get a movie out of the deal.

They cycled through various ideas, though they never really landed on a final plan. But just the back and forth of the conversation put Stiles at ease.

"Alright, my precious boy. I think it's nap time," Peter told him.

"Do I have to? I'm really not tired."

"Yes, you have to," Peter told him sternly. "And I can tell by your tone alone that you're in need of one."

Stiles wasn't so sure about that, as he'd already slept in. But this too was a known factor of these little days, and he secretly treasured every second that Peter doted on him, or sternly insisted on something for his own good.

Stiles allowed himself to be herded into the bedroom, and Peter pulled the curtains shut against the afternoon sun. Then he settled Stiles down in his covers, taking care to tuck them in. "You know the drill," Peter told him softly as he carded his fingers through Stiles' hair. "Try to sleep if you can, but if you can't, just rest your eyes and lie quietly for an hour."

"Okay, Daddy," Stiles agreed, already feeling groggy with the food in his belly and the dim room.

A sippy cup was pressed into his hands as his eyes fell shut and he began suckling on it as he fell the rest of the way to sleep.

~~~

Stiles blinked awake, feeling refreshed. Not groggy like when he awoke in the mornings, but weirdly calm and energized. Naps were nearly always like that, as long as he was able to wake on his own time schedule.

Ms. Kitty was nearby, as well as yet another discarded cup. He stared at the beige wall and the way the light played on it, listening for signs of Peter. He didn't hear any, and wasn't surprised.

What he did notice, however, was his full bladder. He remembered hazily yet another cup of water being pressed into his hand, and his adult mind knew why Peter had set him up that way. It was to give him an opportunity, though he pushed that thought aside. He wanted to stay fuzzy just a while longer, intentionally floating in his child-mind.

The sheets were soft. The pull up was snug. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax. It was always difficult to let himself go, to actually do the deed, but he wanted to. When he felt the warm piss soaking over his crotch, Stiles let out a soft sigh. It felt wonderful. Comforting. Worry-free.

As he let himself empty his bladder, from start to finish, Stiles' over-active mind thought of nothing at all.

Distantly, Stiles thought it was a little weird how when wetting himself he wasn't sure of the exact moment he finished. His bladder became less full of course, and the force of his stream tapered off. But when was it a small dribble? When just drips? Without the visual, he couldn't say for sure. Just at some point in the moments following the event, the pull-up became uncomfortable and damp. Clammy-feeling, and not just warm.

"Daddy!" Stiles called out. Not too loudly, because he always felt shy after this, but certainly loudly enough to be heard by a werewolf.

There was a moment of silence, then the familiar shuffle of movement outside his door before the door creaked open, sounding loud in the quiet apartment.

"Look who's awake!" Peter enthused, and Stiles smiled up at him a bit. Of course, Peter noticed his predicament right away. His sense of smell might have been even sharper than his hearing. "Did somebody have an accident?" he questioned.

"Uh-huh," Stiles confirmed, though they both knew it had been intentional.

"That's alright, sweetheart. Let's just get you cleaned up, shall we?" Peter told him, and reached for a plastic bin on the top shelf of the closet. Any outsider wouldn't know what was in the opaque blue plastic tub, but Stiles knew what was up there. Peter pulled from it a towel first, which he slid under Stiles' hips while Stiles lifted up a bit. There were baby wipes and powder. Cream, and new pull-ups, with which Peter periodically stocked his underwear drawer as well.

Peter moved the sheet entirely out of his way, and pulled off Stiles' sweatpants next, leaving the socks. It was a simple matter to then pull off the garment and dispose of it in a special plastic bin that also fit in the storage tub. Stiles knew that Peter would empty it along with the regular trash, leaving no one the wiser what went on in here.

Then came the cool wipes, and it was only when Peter pressed on the base of the plug and wiggled it that Stiles remembered it was there, he'd become so accustomed to it. He gasped now, totally aware of its presence as Peter moved it around.

"Are you feeling sore at all from wearing your plug so long?" Peter questioned him. He added lube to the rim and started to fuck the plug more easily in and out of his hole.

"Uh-uh," Stiles denied. He felt anything but sore at the moment.

"No? Well, let Daddy have a look just to be sure," Peter said. Stiles groaned as he felt his hole stretch to accommodate the widest part of the plug as Peter carefully pulled it free of him. For a moment, Stiles felt achingly empty, his hole fluttering a bit at the sudden gape. Then Peter pressed two well-lubed fingers inside of him and Stiles moaned, wriggling on them and trying to push them into himself further.

"What a greedy little hole you have," Peter commented, and Stiles felt himself blushing as heat flooded his face and chest.

Peter pulled his fingers free and Stiles saw him reach for the cream used to prevent a rash. He worked it over what bare skin there was on Stiles' groin, mostly steering clear of the hair. They'd discussed keeping Stiles bare there, but so far it had felt too extreme. For now, Peter gently stroked his thickening cock, and reached his other hand between Stiles' cheeks to continue the finger fuck.

"Daddy!" Stiles gasped, his breath coming in short little bursts as he felt himself approaching his climax. He'd been worked up all morning, and now lax from sleep his body was primed for release, his prostate swollen from the constant stimulation of the plug.

"Are you going to make another mess for Daddy?" Peter asked in that calm, teasing voice of his.

"Uh!" Stiles answered incoherently as he began to tremble and writhe, digging his fingers into the fitted sheet.

"Go on then," Peter encouraged sweetly. "Make a mess for Daddy." He squeezed a third finger past Stiles' stretched rim, and that was it. Stiles shouted and tensed as his cock pulsed wet stripes of cum over Peter's stroking fist, while Peter worked him through it.

As Stiles laid totally spent, weak and breathless, Peter cleaned him gently again. Wipes and cream and powder were all applied. The plug was lubed and reinserted, in spite of how sensitive Stiles now was. But he couldn't complain. He only smiled a little, and lifted his hips when Peter pulled a new pull-up into place. Then again when it was time for his pants.

He sat up gingerly while Peter cleaned up the supplies, and then he knew it was time to get up again.

Peter led the way out of the room, Stiles trailing behind like his shadow, and when they reached the living room Stiles spotted the puzzle, spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch. The fort had been disassembled and put away, and now their in-progress puzzle had been set up, carefully removed for now from the special plastic portfolio that held it most of the time.

"What do you say we work on our puzzle for a while today?" Peter asked.

"Okay!" Stiles agreed, already having pushed past Peter to reach the table, like a fun-seeking missile. It wasn't often that they got to play puzzle and Stiles was glad that Peter had come up with such a good idea for what to do after nap time.

A jigsaw puzzle was a perfect activity for Stiles. It was chaotic enough to keep his ADD in check, methodical in such a way that allowed him to remain quiet and focused. And puzzles, like his colouring book, held that perfect combination of childlike activity but with an adult level of difficulty. He could allow himself to drift for a time in his child-mind, while still having something stimulating enough to do. Other littles out there might enjoy toddler aged activities, but for Stiles, this was right in the sweet spot. And best of all, Peter always joined him. Whether Stiles was feeling little or big, a jigsaw puzzle was one of the few activities both men were able to genuinely enjoy and share.

For the first little while, Stiles let himself drift. It was pleasant, and engaging, and he was still fuzzy from sleep and orgasm. But inevitably, anxious thoughts began to creep in. His eyes strayed from his work to across the apartment where he'd left his phone, turned off and waiting for him. What had become of his interview the day before? What about all the other recruiters waiting to get into contact with him? He felt dread sink into the pit of his stomach, heavy and leaden. He had so many emails to reply to, and the idea of them dismissing him as uninterested gave him hives. Job hunting was so stressful, and so lengthy a process. And as nice as it was to let go and hand the reins over to Peter now and then, Stiles didn't want to live this way forever. The anxious spectre of him infantilized for life floated into his brain.

"Sweetheart, concentrate on your puzzle, please," Peter interjected, bringing Stiles back to the task in front of him. Of course he'd smelled Stiles' anxiety, had seen the direction he'd been looking across the apartment.

"Sorry, Daddy," he muttered quietly, and tried again to look at the puzzle pieces. But the admonishment rankled in another way, as well. As much as he had wanted to take today off, a panicked voice in his mind let him know he was fucking up, that he wasn't dealing with his very adult responsibilities.

"Stiles," Peter interjected again, just as Stiles was working himself back up.

"Just," Stiles began to argue, and saw Peter's face firm into stern lines, his mouth open to argue. Stiles pushed on. "Listen, Peter," he said, feeling off-kilter not calling him Daddy this time, though he was still woozy and half in his little space. "Just let me check my phone real quick, see if there's any sort of emergency."

"Stiles," Peter said patiently. "There is no emergency that you need to deal with for one day. You know this, baby boy, and I'm going to need you to let those decisions to me for today. Phone off." Peter said the last with an air of finality. End of discussion.

"Da--" Stiles began, and stopped himself "Pe-" He grimaced, not sure what he wanted to say. He blushed and only partly from embarrassment. Irritation, even anger flared up within him, fueled by his anxiety. "I just --"

"No."

"But --"

"I said no," Peter said, his tone firm. "And I'm beginning to think that my little boy needs a firm reminder of just who is in charge here today."

Stiles' indignation morphed into guilt, and his hot skin now tingled as he took Peter's meaning. A spanking. He opened his mouth to protest, but he wasn't sure whether that would help, or what he wanted now to settle him. To check his phone, or to let Peter help him? He gave Peter a helpless, anguished look.

"What do you say, sweetheart?" Peter asked him. "Is it time for a spanking? Does Daddy need to help his baby boy come back down?"

Stiles bit his quivering lip and looked away. "No," he said waveringly, but he kind of wanted it. He hated it, he knew it would hurt, but he wanted it too. Sometimes it was enough to make him want to come, and other times it resulted in crying his eyes out. But either way, right now he felt fragile, and wasn't at all sure what would help.

"Come here, baby boy," Peter said gently, opening his arms to Stiles. Stiles crawled up into Peter's lap, straddling his hips and snuggling in against him as Peter held him. For a while, Peter just rubbed his back. "I think it would help you if you let me do this for you," Peter told him after he'd settled down. "You can always say no," Peter assured him, "but you might feel better if you said yes."

Stiles sat with that a moment, then agreed. "Okay," he said, and he knew Peter took it for the acquiescence it was, not just a statement of understanding. He couldn't bring himself to say more.

"That's my brave boy," Peter praised, and Stiles felt warmth bubble up in his stomach. "Stand up for me. Let's get you ready," Peter said, and Stiles was forced to reluctantly relinquish his hold and stand. He blushed and looked away as Peter pulled down his sweatpants, then his pull-up, leaving him feeling very exposed in front of him like this. He stepped out of the clothes as required, and let Peter arrange him over his lap, ass on display.

Peter pet him for a minute, perhaps to relax him, but for Stiles there was really no relaxing when his ass was exposed and his head hung down toward Peter's ankles. Especially when he knew what was coming, and he knew it would be all the worse with the plug still nestled in his ass.

Finally, the first blow came, a loud  _ smack! _ in the quiet room. Stiles' breath hitched and he felt the sting and the bloom of heat, but it wasn't bad. The next slap came, then another, and he felt some of his tension drain out even as the pain began to build. He could do this, now that it had begun. Now that there was a rhythm to it. One particularly sharp  _ crack! _ struck him across the plug and he let out a little grunt of pain, and clenched his hands around Peter's ankle to ground himself.

It was strange, no matter how many times they did this. Stiles could almost feel the endorphins flooding his system. The pain greyed out and some sort of sharp pleasure took its place, like a fruit that was too tart but still good. He was aware he was grunting steadily, but couldn't notice over the roar in his ears, mouth hanging open in pleasure. His cock was hard, and he wanted to rock against Peter, but he had no leverage and Peter's pants were rough against his skin.

Pleasure mounted. He was going to come. Surely he could come from this, the little jolts of the plug against his prostate when it was slapped. But the hits to his cheeks sent fire lacing up his spine, and soon the urge to ejaculate gave way once more. His grunts soured into whines of pain and Stiles felt the first prickles of tears in his eyes. It hurt, but he wanted it. He couldn't stand it. He let out a sob and kicked his legs.

"Ow!" Stiles complained through another choked sob. He tried to wriggle and kick but Peter's grip on his waist was firm. "Daddy!" he wailed, and it wasn't even a conscious decision to call him that. The endorphins flooding him crested as well and the dam burst in the form of real tears, all of his anxiety leaking out of him in heaving sobs. "Daddy, stop, stop! It hurts!" he wailed. Peter stopped and rubbed his hand over the heated flesh. It felt like sandpaper.

"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," Peter told him. "It's over."

Peter helped Stiles to sit upright again, the motion making him dizzy as the blood rushed out of his head. His ass felt hot and raw against Peter's pants but he clung to the man anyway, soaking his shirt in tears and snot. Peter seemed not to mind, simply holding him and rubbing his back, murmuring reassurances in his ear that Stiles didn't fully listen to. He just let Peter's voice wash over him, let himself feel small and protected for a while.

Eventually he stopped crying. He still felt fragile, but he felt clean. Like something had been cleared away. Peter reached for a tissue box and helped him clean his face up.

"Let's get your clothes back on," Peter told him, and helped him stand while Peter pulled the pull-up back into place, followed by his sweatpants. Though the pull-up was soft it still abraded the tender skin, but he didn't want Peter to pull the pain or get an ointment. It was manageable, and helped him feel a bit more grounded when his unsettled emotions still had him feeling like he might fly away.

"You sit tight, and I'm going to get us a snack," Peter said.

He hadn't thought he was hungry or thirsty, but when Peter returned with a sippy cup of water, Stiles drank it down with barely a pause. And the muffin Peter had produced for him looked good too, now that it was in front of him. As he slowly ate, Stiles felt himself settle a bit, as the sugar worked its way into his system.

"How about we leave the puzzle for now," Peter said, "and you come help me in the kitchen for a while? I've got to start doing some prep work for supper."

Prep work sounded good. Stiles' phone was closer and it drew his eyes for a moment, but then he shut it out entirely. He found he didn't want to deal with it at all.

Peter didn't let him use a knife, of course, but he let Stiles stir and measure and snap apart fresh green beans. It was nice, and the change of scenery helped as well. Peter chatted idly about what they were cooking, and Stiles soon found himself interjecting with facts about food, things he'd tasted in the past, and all the normal inanity that came out of his mouth when he was relaxed.

When the food was finally prepped and cooking, Peter had agreed to put on Lord of the Rings in spite of it not being evening yet. The puzzle was cleared away, and Stiles was perfectly content to veg out in front of the TV until supper time. The food joined them on the couch as if by magic, and was cleared away again while the endless movie kept on running. Stiles made a few trips to the bathroom rather than wetting himself in that time, but otherwise didn't budge until before he knew it, it was time to get ready for bed. It was early, but he was surprisingly tired.

Stiles was glad to let Peter undress him, and passively let the plug be pulled out of his stretched hole. He played with bubbles and bath toys while Peter washed him and smiled when Peter's fingers dipped unnecessarily into his hole.

"Where would you like to sleep tonight, sweetheart?" Peter asked him as he dried Stiles off on the bath mat.

"With you, Daddy," Stiles answered. Sometimes he wanted to sleep alone at the end of a day like this, but more often he wanted to sleep with Peter, in more ways than one.

"Clothes?" Peter asked with a raised brow.

"Uh-uh," Stiles shook his head, cheeks flushing.

~~~

Peter would shower in the morning. For now, they retreated to Peter's room and shut the curtains against the evening light, turning on the dim bedside lamp instead. Peter stripped efficiently, and Stiles was eager to join him in the bed.

"Come here, baby boy," Peter told him as he propped himself up on the pillows and headboard. Stiles' eyes darkened with arousal. It had been a while since he'd ridden Peter.

Stiles straddled Peter's hips and held onto the man's shoulders as Peter prepped him. Two fingers pressed in easily after a day of wearing the plug. He was actually a little sore, and more than ready to get off again after hours more of teasing since naptime. When Peter slicked his cock and began to guide it inside of him, Stiles wasted no time in pressing himself down to the root with a satisfied sigh. Peter's own groan was positively sinful, and his tight grip on Stiles' hips told him that the man was not unaffected.

Stiles worked himself on Peter with purpose, his thighs burning from effort, and Peter let him, barely guiding his hips as he took his pleasure. Only when he was sweat slick and panting did Peter finally have mercy on him, lifting Stiles' hips with a tight grip, and thrusting himself upwards to meet him. With the burden lifted, all Stiles needed to do was take it. The pace had finally quickened and his legs trembled from exertion even as he just gripped Peter and tried to hold on for the ride.

Stiles arched his back and moaned as Peter hit just the right spot inside of him, and soon he clenched tight on Peter's cock as he spent his own release between them. Moments later, Peter held him close as he followed.

A wad of tissues was enough to satisfy both of them as far as cleaning went, and then they were snuggled under the sheets, Stiles wrapped up in Peter as if he hoped to never untagle their limbs, which wasn't inaccurate.

For the first time in days, Stiles felt utterly sated and relaxed. Peter remained his refuge, his safe place to breathe.

~~~

Peter blinked open his eyes at the sound of talking out in the kitchen. He glanced at his alarm clock across the room and saw it was past time he got up. He'd heard and felt Stiles leave the bed at ass o'clock in the morning, and hadn't felt the need to stop him. No doubt he'd delved right into emails and texts and social media, catching up on whatever he'd missed. Now, as Peter listened he heard Stiles going through the motions of talking to a new recruiter yet again, explaining his qualifications.

He took a quick shower and dressed for the day, and when he entered the kitchen he was pleased to find lukewarm coffee waiting for him. He was also annoyed to find a dirty cereal bowl still filled with milk left out on the counter, but that was par for the course with Stiles. The boy was a hurricane, leaving wreckage wherever he went. The muffin paper told him that Stiles had been into the muffins already as well. He grabbed one for his own breakfast, while he still could. It wasn't very healthy, but there was no use in trying to maintain order this late in the game.

Stiles had the TV running, and both laptop and phone in hand as his fingers flew over his keyboard, typing something up. The boy was a whirlwind as always, though he looked better today after his day of rest. He smelled cleaner somehow, rested, and his eyes were clear.

"Hey, lazy-wolf," Stiles said with a grin.

Peter rolled his eyes. "What in god's name have you put on my television?" he asked.

Stiles looked up distractedly, as if he'd forgotten the TV was even there. No doubt he had. Stiles worked best with background noise, but the show wasn't very important. "Judge Judy?" he guessed, though it was on commercial break. "I think? At least it was a few minutes ago. Might have changed."

"Dreadful," Peter remarked dryly and snagged the remote. It was too early for television, but he was feeling lazy today. He flicked to the guide to see if there was anything worth watching.

"Hey, get Netflix like a normal human being and you won't have to deal with daytime TV."

Peter wrinkled his nose. He was not going to pay a subscription service for movies and shows that were mostly as bad as what was on TV. At least with the TV he had access to the news and the occasional big, televised event. With a disgusted sigh he turned the thing off and got up to put in a DVD. After a few minutes, the Batman theme song filled the living room.

Stiles' eyes lit up as he grinned at him. It wasn't a little day. Not today. But that was no reason not to have some fun.


End file.
